


Born Kinetic

by nerdsandthelike



Category: Billy Elliot (2000)
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, Getting Together, M/M, random background OCs for the boys to flirt with, unresearched alternate universe London in the 90's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdsandthelike/pseuds/nerdsandthelike
Summary: He was falling into step with Michael before he knew anything about ballet. They had danced and fought and run together for their whole lives. There is never going to be anyone else who Billy can respond to so instinctively.Or, Michael takes Billy dancing





	Born Kinetic

**Author's Note:**

> The usual disclaimer: I do not own these characters
> 
> The unusual disclaimers: I have never seen the movie, only the musical, so if anything isn't movie-accurate, that's why.  
> I am not British and have not had a British beta (or any beta). Sorry.  
> I also absolutely did not attempt the dialect of the characters because it would be more offensive than helpful.  
> I wrote this because I wanted to try to write something happy. I'm not good at writing happy things. So I purposefully didn't do research into real-world London of the 1990s. And we all just have to live with that.
> 
> Not a disclaimer, just a note: I wrote this imagining it as happening during my other story, "We Will Stand, Shoulder to Shoulder," but the two stories don't have to be related, and I encourage you to live your own life.

Michael sweeps back into Billy’s life with a confidence and a grace that Billy has never seen in him before. He had moments of lightness when they were kids in Everington, putting on his mum’s dresses and heels and dancing and laughing, but they were rare. Now when Michael Caffrey moves through the world he carries that confidence with him everywhere. It isn’t really the same, Billy recognizes. As a kid, those moments were silly, but things have changed. These days, however much he laughs with Michael, he never much feels like laughing at him. He has grown tall and his body is beginning to fit him. His father used to say Michael was like Billy’s shadow, following him everywhere without question. He does start laughing at what his father would say if he could see them now. Michael is taller than Billy in his heels and all done up in perfect makeup and a wig and a dress so tight Billy wonders how he breathes. He holds Billy’s hand loosely, leading him through the London streets.

They wind up in some club that Michael has heard about, fashionable and edgy, and nowhere like anywhere Billy goes with his ballet friends. Billy finds it funny that Michael knows all the newest and best places to be after only a few years in the city. Billy’s been here since he was twelve, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever know it as well as Michael does. Billy likes it, though. He enjoys being with Michael. He likes putting up a token fight when Michael tries to convince him to go to underground drag shows and new clubs. He enjoys surrendering to Michael’s plan. He laughs as the other boy insults his clothes and tries to force him to wear something tighter than he even thought he owned. He loves the way Michael will grab his hand or his wrist and lead him through the streets until they reach their destination. He likes the mystery and the excitement of it, and he finds he doesn’t mind at all when Michael takes control. His favorite thing about Michael being back in London is how he is both new and old, comforting and exciting. He missed having someone who is always in tune with him, who knows him in the way you can only know someone you grew up with. But he also loves the way Michael is not the same boy he was in Everington. Billy appreciates the ways he has changed, the adventure he brings to Billy’s safe and routine life that has centered around ballet for nearly a decade now.

When they reach the club, Michael ignores the line and walks straight up to the bouncer.

“Sam!” Michael calls, and the large man’s face breaks out into a good-natured smile. Michael leans into the bouncer and kisses the air beside each of his cheeks. It’s so he doesn’t smear his makeup, Billy thinks instinctively, and then wonders when he learned Michael’s new habits as well as the old ones.

“How are you doing?” Michael begins. “How’s your mum? How’s Henry?” he asks like he’s about to indulge in some gossip over a pint, not standing outside of a club in a minidress in February talking to the bouncer.

“I’m doing fine,” the bouncer says. “Nothing much new. Mum had a bit of a cold last week, but she’s on the mend now. She says hi and sends her love. Told me to tell you to come for tea any time. Henry does not say hi or send his love, but he is also on the mend.”

Michael laughs. “I regret nothing. Henry deserved it.”

“Oh, I know, and I think he knows,” Sam replies. “But I’ll have him sorted out soon enough.”

“I am happy for you two,” Michael says. “Even if Henry is a dick.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that on. So,” he turns to Billy. “Who’s this?”

Michael smiles and twists Billy’s hand in his so their fingers are interlaced. “This,” he says, and leans in like he’s telling a secret. “Is Billy Elliot. He is the best dancer at the Royal Ballet, and he desperately needs to let loose.” His voice is low and he’s smiling mischievously at Sam in a way that Billy can feel in the pit of his stomach, and sometimes he thinks that Michael should be the one onstage, not him. Billy can dance, sure, but Michael can perform.

Sam quirks his eyebrows and scans Billy thoughtfully. Billy isn’t sure what the right response is, but he meets the bouncer’s eyes.

“Well,” Sam says, still looking at Billy. “It sounds like you know just what to do with him.” He smirks and Billy would blush if he weren’t so used to Michael’s antics by now. Sam lets them both in graciously. He waves Billy through first, ushering him forward until he has to drop Michael’s hand. Billy turns back just in time to see Sam catch Michael’s arm and whisper something in his ear. Michael just laughs lightly, smiles softly, and gives a short reply too low for Billy’s ears. Sam kisses Michael lightly on the cheek and lets him pass. Michael takes Billy’s hand again as they enter the club, and Billy doesn’t ask what Sam said.

The club is loud, but not yet too crowded. Billy watches Michael’s face to see the moment he gets a good view of the club. It never seems to get old for Michael. Every time, his eyes go wide and his whole body relaxes and he smiles like he’s ready to take on the world. That expression is most of why Billy agrees to go out with Michael so often. Billy feels Michael’s grip tighten on his hand, and he walks towards the bar in step with Michael.

Billy gets a gin and tonic and orders a vodka cranberry for Michael. He flirts with the bartender out of habit, but when the guy walks away, he turns back to his best friend. Michael promptly starts an argument about why he should get to pay this time. Billy explains again that he isn’t saving up for uni, unlike some people, and then Michael is a dick and starts to say that just because Billy dances about for a living instead of getting a real job, and Billy is about to get indignant, when the bartender interrupts, startling both of them. Billy pays him before Michael can do anything about it. Michael hits his arm lightly, kisses his cheek and thanks him, threatening to pay for them both next time. It is routine by now. It’s comforting to Billy that even when they are going to different places and exploring new corners of London, there is something constant.

They sit at the bar for a few minutes, looking out over the dance floor, sipping their drinks, and not talking. Michael slips off his stool once he’s made his choice. He takes his drink off the bar with one hand, and pats Billy’s shoulder with the other.

“Don’t wait up, darling,” he says in his poshest accent, and Billy laughs. He knows Michael would never leave the club without saying goodbye. They’ve never spoken about it, but they’ve both come to expect it. They have never done anything else since they were sixteen and just going out together for the first time.

Michael glides across the room, moving effortlessly across the dance floor, even as the crowd grows. Billy’s eyes follow him to where he stops in front of a Asian man, not much older than them, and holds out his hand, perfectly, charmingly formal. The man smiles and takes it, and Michael sits down next to him. Billy lets his eyes go back to scanning the room. This is also part of the routine. They come in together, order their first drink, and then Michael goes to find some boy to make eyes at. No one ever comes up to them when they are together, but without fail, it only takes a few minutes after Michael leaves for someone to take the seat beside his.

Tonight is no exception. He is tall and thin with dark hair, and he introduces himself as “Tom.” Billy lets himself evaluate Tom for a moment, looking him up and down. When he is finished, he looks Tom directly in the eyes and gives him his real name. Tom seems a little too cool for Billy’s taste, but there’s nothing malicious about him, and he looks like good company. At any rate, earnest is hard to find in a club like this.

They chat for a few moments, nothing too deep, neither of them asking personal questions. Billy takes the last sip of his gin and tonic, and Tom asks if he can buy him another drink.

“No,” Billy says, turning the glass around in his hand. “Not right now, anyway. We’ll see about later. We can go dance though, if you’d like.”

He looks over at Tom, who finishes the last of his drink in one swallow. He takes Tom’s hand and they move together onto the dance floor. As he walks out, he glances in the direction of Michael and his boy. They haven’t moved, that’s good, and Michael is still nursing his vodka cranberry. He leans in closer to hear the other man and softly touches his shoulder. Michael must like this one. That is all he needs to know. He is sure that Michael has done the same quick glance to check on him. They rarely catch the other at it, but it is an old habit to keep the other person in sight. He turns back to Tom, and now that they are on the dance floor, he lets himself move.

Tom isn’t a bad dancer, but Billy has high standards. Michael teases him that the reason he doesn’t get laid often enough is that he is spoiled being around all the gorgeous and talented dancers at the ballet. Billy always reminds him that Michael has slept with more of the other dancers than he has. “That,” Michael declares every time, “is because I appreciate the beauty around me, unlike some ungrateful bastards.” Billy always responds to Michael’s teasing about his standards with grumbles and denials, but Michael is right, of course. Billy has spent so long in ballet that he knows what it feels like to be completely in sync with other bodies, and he is never really happy with a partner who can’t give him that. Tom is close, Billy judges, only a beat off maybe. For a night, it wouldn’t be bad.

For all Michael’s efforts to set him up when they go out, Billy goes home alone more often than not. When he’s not by himself, he’s usually carrying Michael through the streets back to Billy’s flat to spend the night when he didn’t find anyone either. Billy doesn’t mind being by himself, really. It’s not as if he can’t find someone to bring home when that’s what he wants. It’s just stopped being the goal of going out for him. He’d slept with nearly every willing boy he could find for a couple of years, just after he turned sixteen and came out and realized that no one could stop him. It had been all-consuming in those days, but by the time he finally left the Upper School, he found he didn’t need boys as badly as he had before. When he told Simon, he had just teased him for losing his libido just when he didn’t have to sneak around the School staff anymore.

He still went out with his ballet friends, still flirted with the boys who made eyes at him across the bars. He just didn’t go home with any of them anymore. He dated a sweet guy named Mark for a few months before he got restless and then he dated a complete dick named David for six weeks before his friend Lisa forced him to break it off. He dated occasionally after that, but he didn’t mind being single for a while. None of his boyfriends had ever been around for very long, and the most recent, Ryan, had only dumped him two weeks ago. Ryan had been a good dancer. He wasn’t in ballet. Billy tried not to sleep with his classmates or his coworkers. He had learned that lesson early. But Ryan was fit and kind and in his last year of uni studying law, and he had good rhythm. After a few months, though he said he wasn’t ready for anything serious so close to graduation and kissed Billy goodbye amiably, so here he was with Tom, and that was fine for now.

Tom is just good enough a dancer that Billy can still move on auto-pilot. After years of carefully training his body to follow the beat and learning how to bully each limb, each toe into perfect alignment, dancing in a club is easy. He likes how loose it is, how he can just let his body go and it will respond to the music without him having to force anything or concentrate on his posture. Tom seems to be enjoying it too, and that’s enough for him.

Tom pulls Billy closer, and he is a better dancer when he’s pressed against Billy and can just follow Billy’s movements. The music is good, the bass is strong, and he never knows what to expect when Michael takes him out somewhere new, but this is nice. The location is new, but not too strange, and he enjoys it. Tom runs his hands over Billy’s arms, and flicks his eyes up to meet Billy’s. Billy has always found it amusing how much boys appreciate the muscles he developed tossing girls around. He certainly won’t complain about the attention, though.

“Would you take that drink now?” Tom asks against his ear.

Billy pulls away just enough to smile at Tom. “You know? I think I would.”

They make their way back towards the bar, and Billy scans quickly for Michael. He is still in the corner he was earlier, but the man he was talking to is no longer there. A different man, shorter, this time, a redhead is there talking to Michael, but they look like they’re chatting, not like Michael is really interested. When they reach the bar, Billy gets another gin and tonic and Tom is about to order when a loud voice calls from the other end of the bar.

“Tom!” a man shouts, and suddenly there is a burly blond man in a Manchester United shirt half draped over Tom’s shoulders. “Tom! How are you doing? It’s been ages! Ooooh who’s this?” he says, suddenly looking at Billy.

“Hey Drew,” Tom says kindly. “Good to see you too. I’m fine, and this is Billy.”

Drew smiles widely at Billy, and Billy can’t help but smile back.

“So,” Tom says, turning Drew just enough to face him, but still keeping him supported. “How’s Matt?”

Drew’s smile slides off his face in an instant. “He won’t return my calls, Tom,” he says in a small voice. “He just left, and now he won’t return my calls.”

“Okay,” Tom says, sighing. “Alright, mate. It’s going to be okay. Sit here a minute.” He helps Drew onto a stool and lets him lean against the bar. Tom turns back towards Billy and leans into him. “Well, it looks like I have to leave sooner than expected, and with rather different company.” He glances back at Drew regretfully. Billy laughs. “I wish tonight had turned out differently. You’re,” he pauses and his lips quirk just slightly, “you’re a very good dancer.”

“I know.” Billy laughs and takes a sip of his gin and tonic, and Tom laughs with him. Billy is almost surprised that he also wishes Tom didn’t have to leave. He seems genuinely nice, and he really is not that bad a dancer. They could have had fun.

Tom kisses his cheek softly and says, “maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

“Maybe,” Billy says, and Tom helps Drew up from the stool behind him, and leaves the club.

Billy sits at the bar, staring out at the dance floor again, and sure enough, the seat next to him is quickly filled again. He doesn’t bother to turn to the person or introduce himself. He knows without looking that Michael has returned.

“How abominably rude of him to leave you to pay for your own drink,” Michael says in mock-dismay.

Billy smiles, still looking out on the crowd. “Would you drink with me then? Console me since I’ve been abandoned?”

Michael laughs. “Well, I’d never let a gentleman drink alone.”

Billy flags down the bartender. “Vodka cranberry, for the lady, then.”

“Not even asking what I’d like?” Michael continues, to tease him. “Maybe I should have left you to drink alone, if you’re not a gentleman.”

“Michael,” Billy says, finally looking over at his friend. “You always order vodka cranberries. You have since you were eighteen and saw Helen Scott drinking one after a show and you thought it was the most sophisticated thing ever.”

“If you really loved me, Billy, you’d order me a martini, something posh,” Michael leans against the bar, stretching dramatically.

“You know I love you, you ridiculous pansy, but it’s not my fault you never take me to posh bars so I can buy you posh drinks,” Billy says, with a roll of his eyes. He does love Michael and he always has. Tony would say it’s the sissy atmosphere of the School that got to him, and maybe he’s right. After years in London, though, he can admit when he loves someone and not feel ridiculous for saying it. He’s glad of it, really. He’s never going to be Michael, forever touching people and kissing cheeks and giving warm hugs, but he’ll be damned if he’s as shut off as his father and Tony and the rest of the men in Durham. He knows who loves him, and the people he loves know too. For his dad that might be enough, but Billy doesn’t see why you can’t say it if everyone already knows. It’s not a secret. It certainly isn’t news to Michael.

“So,” Billy says changing the subject. “Why are you drinking alone at this point in the night?”

“I’m not drinking alone,” Michael says, taking a sip of the vodka cranberry. “I’m drinking with you.”

“I don’t count, Michael, and you know it. What happened to that bloke, the Asian one?”

“Oh, he was a sweetheart, but so clumsy. He spilled his drink all over himself and left in quite a rush.”

“And you didn’t offer to help him clean it up?” Billy raises an eyebrow at Michael. “And you say I’m not a gentleman!”

“I never claimed to be a gentleman,” Michael says haughtily.

“Well, a queen, then, since any real queen would have certainly found something she could assist him with,” Billy nudges Michael’s arm slightly.

Michael hits his shoulder. “Billy Elliot! Really! I’d ask if you were raised better than that, but I already know the answer!”

Billy laughs at Michael’s indignation.

“He spilled red wine on his shirt,” Michael says seriously. “Then he rushed home to get it out. Not that it will do him any good, but he was so embarrassed he was in no state to take my advice.”

“Ah,” Billy replies. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. It looked like things were going well.”

“Eh,” Michael shrugs. “It’s a night. But you, abandoned for a pissed footballer. How the mighty have fallen.” He knocks Billy’s shoulder with his own.

“Well,” Billy replies, looking out on the crowd, “the night is still young. Who knows what will happen?”

They both know what will happen. Billy has never been the most outrageous of club-goers. It comes from years of early rehearsal six days a week. They know that he will go home after he finishes this drink and that Michael will leave too. If he isn’t already otherwise engaged, he always leaves when Billy does. With his other friends, Billy knows, they will stay out all night, but he has never complained about leaving early with Billy.

“Well you may be going back on the hunt,” Michael says, “but I have work tomorrow, so I can’t stay for much longer.”

Billy smiles at his friend. “Before you go, I noticed that you have been hiding in that corner since we got here. It would be a shame for this club to not get to see you dance before you disappear off into the night.”

“Well, we must give the people what they want,” Michael says, and holds out his hand.

Billy hands him down from the stool like he’s in a Jane Austen novel and keeps his hand until they get out onto the dance floor. Michael always blushes when Billy compliments his dancing, says that Billy’s just flattering him. Billy knows so many dancers that, according to Michael, anything nice he says about Michael’s abilities must be entirely false. Billy knows that the professional dancers are more technically proficient than Michael, who even after all Billy’s attempts to teach him, still can’t do a pirouette without falling, but Michael has always been Billy’s favorite person to dance with. In a club, especially, where technique doesn’t matter, Michael is a better dance partner than anyone else he knows. Maybe that’s just to him, though. He is sure that Michael is a good dancer in general. He has rhythm, Billy can see that, but maybe what’s so nice about dancing with Michael is that the two of them are always so in sync. He was falling into step with Michael before he knew anything about ballet. They had danced and fought and run together for their whole lives. There is never going to be anyone else who Billy can respond to so instinctively.

When they dance together, Billy knows that people stare at them. He understands why. They dance with all the heat of being twenty and all the intimacy of having known each other for a lifetime, and if dancing with Michael was not the best thing he had ever experienced, he would be jealous of the people who got to watch. The music is fast and loud and the dance floor is far more crowded than it was earlier in the night, and they just go with it, easy as anything. When the music slows and quiets for a new song, they are sweating and breathless and pressed against each other. Billy smiles, and Michael looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“So,” Billy says, swaying lightly with the new music. “What did Sam say to you at the door? He doesn’t seem the type to have anything too scandalous, so I’d bet it’s something that you did.”

“In a way,” Michael laughs lightly, but doesn’t answer.

“Well?” Billy prompts.

Michael looks up at him with surprising sincerity. “He told me to not let you break my heart.”

“Really?” Billy says, almost tempted to make a joke, he doesn’t know how he could in this moment. “And what did you say?”

“I told him he was ten years too late.” Michael’s gaze never wavers from Billy’s eyes.

“Michael, you know I-” Billy begins.

“Oh, don’t,” Michael interrupts. “I have no regrets. My best mate and I both made it out of Everington and I live in London and I’ll start uni in a year or two and none of my friends give a damn if I wear dresses and heels, and” he lowered his voice and leaned closer to Billy, “I’m in a hot new gay nightclub and I’m dancing with the most gorgeous guy in the place. I mean, you should see this guy. He’s tall and he’s strong, and he’s a dancer,” he emphasizes the word, teasing Billy. “And you know what they say about dancers, all that stretching-”

Billy kisses him. He doesn’t know why, he just leans in and does it. As soon as he does, though, he begins to wonder why he hadn’t done this ages ago. They’re already so close together, that it is so easy to put his hands on Michael’s face and kiss him deeply. Michael certainly doesn’t seem to have an objection to the turn the night has taken, based on how tightly his hand is fisted into Billy’s hair. He should have realized earlier. He’s always know that Michael is attractive, has always known that Michael is an essential part of his life. It just hadn’t occurred to him before. He sees that he has wanted to kiss Michael since they were kids, but he lived with the urge for so long that it he never even thought about anymore. Wanting to kiss Michael, looking back on it, was like breathing or his heart beating, it was just always there.

After what seems like an eternity, but also not nearly long enough, Michael pushes himself off Billy.

“Well what the fuck was that?” Michael says in a voice maybe slightly too loud even for the club.

“I don’t really know,” Billy says honestly. He leans in and kisses Michael lightly and quickly. “But I’m glad I did it.”

Michael shrugs and laughs. “You’re mad, Billy Elliot.” He moves closer to his friend. “But it’s worth a shot,” he says and kisses Billy again.

He has never really thought about it before, but he somehow had the vague impression that Michael would kiss the same way he gives you a hug without messing up his outfit or kisses your cheek or touches your shoulder. Michael never hit hard even in boxing, but he kisses like a tidal wave. Billy feels overwhelmed by his force and the intensity. They are pressed together as close as they can be in the middle of the dance floor, and Michael’s fingers are in his hair, and he tastes like cranberry juice and he can’t notice anything anymore. It is too much. Michael is too much.

The music picks back up and he is still kissing Michael and it does not seem like either of them want to stop. Eventually Billy’s ballet instincts kick back in, and he feels the people moving around them as they just stand there. He tries to pull back from Michael, but the other boy follows his mouth, not letting him leave. Billy tries to get his attention, mumbling Michael’s name against his lips, and that doesn’t have the intended effect on either of them. Finally, he takes Michael’s face firmly between his hands, and god he’s going to ruin Michael’s makeup. When did he start worrying about Michael’s makeup? He takes Michael and holds him an inch away from his face, just barely far enough apart to talk. Michael’s eyes are wild and his breathing uneven and his makeup is smudged and Billy would not bet that he looks much better.

“Michael,” Billy says, trying to steady his breath. “Michael, I don’t really want to stop, but we are just standing here on the dance floor, so I think we should-”

“Yes, right, of course,” Michael says. “Just…” he trails off and tilts his head down just slightly and catches Billy’s mouth again for just a moment. “Just that,” he finishes, and he holds Billy’s hand tightly all the way to the door and past Sam, who winks kindly at Billy, and through the streets of London. At first it seems like a forced march, like Michael is trying to get somewhere as fast as he possibly can, which Billy knows is exactly what he is doing. Billy’s flat is just over a mile away and Michael could find his way to Billy’s blindfolded and blind drunk from almost anywhere in London. When they left Billy’s flat hours earlier, they knew that they would probably both be back, with Michael sleeping it off on the sofa until Billy wakes him up with breakfast and an aspirin the next morning. There were only a few parts of the evening that were unexpected.

After ten minutes of Michael dragging him across London, Billy pulls on Michael’s hand, stopping him. Michael turns to face Billy, about to produce some sarcastic remark, no doubt, when Billy kisses him softly.

“Just that,” Billy says, and resumes walking at a much more leisurely pace. Michael falls into step beside him, but he lets go of Billy’s hand and instead loops his arm around Billy’s waist. Billy smiles and pulls Michael closer to his side. They don’t say much as they walk back towards the flat, not in a hurry anymore. Billy feels lighter somehow than he did earlier today, and that’s just one of the things that he can’t really explain about tonight. It’s alright, though, the not knowing. He couldn’t sort out the logic and the reason of it all if he tried, but it feels right, and Michael is next to him, and so he keeps walking.

They get to the door of Billy’s flat, and Michael steps back from Billy. Michael lets him open the door and thanks him when he ushers Michael inside. It’s not a big flat, but Billy lives alone, and that is the only thing about it that matters to them at this moment. As soon as they’re inside, Michael leans down and kisses Billy again, and it’s everything Billy has wanted since they left the club, but he stops Michael after only a moment.

“It’s not far too my room, so we might as well get there first,” he says, rubbing his thumb lightly over Michael’s cheekbones.

“Well, if you insist,” Michael says, pressing their lips together again.

They walk towards the bedroom holding hands, and it is all surprisingly normal. In the bedroom Michael takes off his wig and his heels and puts them on a chair the same way he always does when he stays over. Billy helps him unzip his dress, like he has so many nights, but this time Michael pauses before he shrugs the dress off his shoulders.

“Do you think that this might be a horrible, life-altering mistake?” he asks calmly, turning to look at Billy.

“No,” Billy says simply.

“Hm,” Michael responds. “I don’t think so either.”  With that he lets the dress fall to the ground, steps out of it, and kisses Billy.

* * *

The next morning is strangely normal. Michael wakes up to see a glass of water and an aspirin by head. Billy is already awake, like he always is. He became a morning person by necessity at some point during his years away from Michael, and can’t seem to have a lie-in, even when he has the time. Michael can hear him making breakfast in the kitchen. Cooking is another skill Billy learned while he was gone. He certainly couldn’t cook when he left Everington all those years ago. When he first made dinner for Michael last year, he had been so shocked that Billy could make something edible, much less actually good. Billy had shrugged and said, “you learn, when you don’t have the money to eat out.” Michael loves Billy’s cooking, and he knows that he’ll be making beans and toast and tea and will somehow always miraculously have an orange that he will force Michael to eat because “we can’t have you getting scurvy.”

Even noticing the differences doesn’t make Michael feel awkward or like anything is off. Sure, he is in Billy’s bed, not on the sofa. The water and aspirin are on a different table, and his wig and heels are in a different chair. His dress is on the floor, and he can’t believe he left it like that last night. Really, if it were because of anything less momentous than sleeping with Billy Elliot, he would never forgive himself. And that’s the real difference, isn’t it? He’s been in love with that stupid boy for nearly all his life, and suddenly Billy kisses him out of nowhere and takes him home and it’s as good as Michael has ever imagined. And somehow the only truly shocking thing about it all is that he didn’t hang up his dress.

He lays in the bed for another few minutes, enjoying the soft light through Billy’s window and the weight of the duvet on his legs. He takes the aspirin and drinks as much of the water he can. It’s the dress that finally gets him out of the bed. He simply can’t let it stay in a heap on the ground now that he’s awake and the world hasn’t ended. He uses one of the empty hangers in Billy’s closet and puts his dress back in next to Billy’s suits and shirts. He doesn’t hesitate, he doesn’t think about any of this, and maybe that’s the biggest sign that it was inevitable. He’s not complaining.

He walks into the kitchen, and Billy also does not seem to be complaining. He’s listening to something soft and classical that Michael recognizes. He couldn’t tell you what it’s from or who wrote it or anything about it, but Billy plays it often enough that Michael sometimes finds himself humming it on his way to work. He goes over to where Billy is stirring the beans and kisses his cheek as he would any other day.

“Morning,” he says, taking his mug from the counter. He’s used the same mug of Billy’s since the first time he stayed over, and Billy always has it ready for him when he wakes up.

“Morning,” Billy says, kissing him lightly on the lips. “The beans are almost done. Pass us the toast, will you?”

Michael fetches the two plates of toast from the other side of the small kitchen and starts to butter them without thinking. He hands each one to Billy as he finishes and Billy puts the beans on top. They sit on the sofa and eat off the too-low table and eat and drink in silence. With anyone else it would be awkward. It would feel like he is avoiding something, like they were trying too hard to pretend nothing had happened and go back up normal. But there is none of that with Billy. How could there be? They have been so wrapped up in each other for so long that Billy sometimes feels like an extension of himself, like a shadow or an echo, fundamentally different, but from the same origin. He can't even bring himself to be nervous about Billy's reaction to the events of last night. They've gone through this routine too many times to let a little thing like sex disrupt it. That's the heart of it. They aren't two strangers playing at going back to normal. They are already as close as two people can be, they have already accepted the new normal, and it feels right.

He meant what he said. He doesn't regret a thing. For all the inevitability of him and Billy, he doesn't think it could have happened sooner. He doesn't know what about last night made Billy kiss him, but he knows it was the right time. So he eats his beans on toast in silence, Billy's leg just lightly touching his own, and he is confident that everything is as it should be.

Michael’s tea is almost gone and he’s absent-mindedly peeling the orange Billy had pulled from seemingly nowhere and placed on his plate when Billy finally says something.

“I thought you said you have work today.”

“Not till nearly three. What’ll you do today?”    

Billy shrugs. “It’s an off day. I’ll wash the dishes and go for groceries and maybe watch some bad telly if I get my laundry done. Nothing special.”

“What would you be if you didn’t have me around, Billy Elliot?” Michael says, nudging Billy with his elbow. “You’d be old before your time. Never do anything exciting or daring-”

“Get enough sleep, have fewer hangovers, eat less chips,” Billy interrupts.

“Oh you know you love it, dancin’ boy.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. He turns to kiss Michael softly and smiles as he meets Michael’s eyes. “I do.”

  
  



End file.
